


let them eat cake

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7359652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you bake the cake?” he asks before she can greet him. “Because you know I’m not coming near anything you cooked.”</p>
<p>“Ah ah,” she deadpans. “Anna has a cake tasting booked for this afternoon, but she already picked her cake in another bakery. The fee is non-refundable. Wanna gorge yourself on cake?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	let them eat cake

**Author's Note:**

> cake tasting, fake relationship, and cameo from a pairing that wrote themselves into the fic apparently

Killian is elbows deep into grading papers, pen stuck between his teeth and glasses slipping down his nose, when his phone buzzes with a text on the coffee table. He almost thinks about ignoring it, but he also fears he will stab himself in the eye with a spoon if he has to read one more paper based on The Tudors instead of actual historical facts. So the phone wins out, and Killian grabs it, opening the text.

It’s Emma, because of course it’s Emma, she must be bored in the middle of a stake-out or something of the like. She either texts him when it happens, or plays with her virtual cats on that application she says she downloaded for Henry. (Nobody’s fooled.) So it’s no surprise to see her name on the screen, but Killian’s eyebrows shoot up anyway when he gets to the text in itself.

_how do you feel about cake tasting?_

He ponders on such an unexpected question for a few seconds before he decides to call Emma instead. This kind of conversation calls for actually words instead of texts. She picks up after a few seconds, which means that yes, she is on a stake-out and yes, she’s bored to death. Killian knows her all too well.

“Did you bake the cake?” he asks before she can greet him. “Because you know I’m not coming near anything you cooked.”

There’s a moment of silence before she scoffs, and Killian doesn’t need to see her to feel the eye roll. But there truly is nothing she can reply to that – everyone in their group of friends knows what a terrible cook she is, and they’ve been doing a flawless job over the past decade of never having Thanksgiving dinner, or Christmas dinner, or any kind of dinner really, at her place. It’s been working like a charm so far, as nobody died of food poisoning yet.

“Ah ah,” she deadpans. “Anna has a cake tasting booked for this afternoon, but she already picked her cake in another bakery. The fee is non-refundable. Wanna gorge yourself on cake?”

He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head a little. Emma is a great many things, but _foodie_ is something he wouldn't have thought of her at first. As it turns out, and as she told him one night when it was just the two of them and a bottle of rum, you learn to appreciate food when you haven't always had it as a child. He didn't know how to react, when she told him. Sometimes, he still doesn't know to react, when she shares titbits about her childhood in the system, long before Ingrid took her in.

"Aye, sure," he replies cheerfully. "What else is Easter break for?"

"Great!" She's cheerful too. _Too_ cheerful.

"What's the catch, love?"

Her sight is too overdramatic, too loud, and Killian dreads the worse already. Emma only cuts to the theatrics with him when she knows he won't take a piece of news well. She probably hopes it will help, somehow, but now it always makes him anxious of things to come – one day, she will laugh her way through asking him to hide a body, that much he is certain.

"The tasting is for the bride and groom only."

Killian is quick to catch on. "You want us to pose as Anna and Kristoff for free cake."

" _Expensive_ free cake." Her voice is petulant, as if she believes she makes a really good point. "But hey, if you don't want to, I can always ask Lancelot or Merl..."

"No, no, I'll come."

If his reply is hurried, desperate, neither of them is going to point it out. And if he feels a weight dropping in his stomach at the idea of Emma spending more time with Merlin – handsome, charismatic Merlin who just joined their group of friends and who is now thick as thieves with Emma – it’s not jealousy. Killian is not jealous, nor bitter. He just doesn't know how to deal with no longer being Emma's favourite friend, when they've been so close since their first day of college. He doesn't know how to handle watching Emma flirt with another man.

"Awesome," Emma replies, oblivious to his inner struggle. "I'll pick you in an hour?"

"Can't wait."

 

...

 

Truth is, Killian thought about asking Emma out only days after he met her. But she had a boyfriend back then, and was dealing with college and having a baby and a rocky relationship that barely held together because of the baby, and Killian wasn't enough of an arsehole to add fuel to the fire. It would have only exploded.

By the time she broke up with Neal he was dating Milah, and they'd already become close enough friends that his shoulder was the one she cried on all night long. And Killian doesn't regret it, not at all, he loves his relationship with Emma and loves being the one she goes to when she needs to talk, or to vent, or to yell. (More often than not, it's yelling.) She's his best friend, and he loves her as a friend, and he's more than fine with that.

It doesn't mean that he doesn't swallow with difficulty when her hands slips through his as they enter the bakery, her body pressed against his chest as she introduces herself as Anna Arendelle having an appointment at four.

It's only one of the many truths about Killian Jones – he's a teacher, he's allergic to goat milk, he's been low key in love with Emma for ages. He doesn't know how _not_ to be in love with Emma, it's always there in a corner of his mind. Of course he's in love with her, how could he not be?

He's fairly certain she's in love with him too, but her fears of rejection will always get the best of her in the worst of times.

Killian is fine with that, too.

He's not fine with the way she looks up at him through her lashes, playing the part of the ingénue bride-to-be, excited and loving and fitting against his body in a way she has not right to do. Killian's smile is forced when he mirrors hers, but the baker doesn't seem to mind as he shows them to a table on the side and tells them to take a sit, that another baker will take care of them in a minute.

Emma sits next to him, her thigh pressed against his, and Killian focuses on the binder she brought with her (props! of course!) as to not focus on anything else. It's one of the many binders Emma and Elsa carry around with them at all times, full of notes and business card and collages of pictures found in wedding magazines. Anna wants a winter wedding, so everything is in soft blue pastels and whites, from the flowers to the chairs to, apparently, the cake. It makes Killian a little nauseous, come to think about it.

"Anna, Kristoff?" They both raise their head to find a baker standing in front of them, all baby pink apron and professional smile, brown hair held back into a ponytail. "Hi, I'm Chuck. I'll take care of you today."

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Emma replies as she holds her hand up to shake, before Killian does the same.

The baker sits opposite them at the table, opening a notebook before clicking her pen open too. She scribbles their names at the top of the page, before she looks back to them. Or, well, to Emma. Which makes sense, since she’s supposed to be the bride and all that – Killian knows for a fact that Kristoff isn’t all that involved in the wedding preparations, not that the lad can be blamed for it. The Arendelle women are a force to reckon with on a daily basis, and it’s no surprise that Anna turned full bridezilla for her wedding. It was a disaster waiting to happen, really.

“Alright,” the baker starts. “How about you tell me how you two met, so I can get a better vibe of you as a couple?”

Emma’s mouth opens in a silent ‘o’ of surprise – background story, awesome. Background story that they obviously didn’t plan in advance, because they both thought they were only in here for cake tasting, not for a plot worthy of a cheesy romantic comedy. She glances at him, like she expects him to have all the answers to the universe at the ready. Thankfully for them both, Killian does.

“In college, actually. My roommate was friends with her sister’s boyfriend, so we were meant to meet at some point. But she sadly was already dating someone back then,” he adds with a bump of his shoulder against hers.

Emma takes it as her cue to react, rolling her eyes at the baker like they share some kind of private joke. Which seems to work, if the way the baker smiles back is anything to go by – or she just is really professional, most likely. “What he fails to tell you is that _he_ was dating someone when I broke up with the other guy. Puts all the blame on me for not falling in his arms sooner.”

“Like you didn’t stubbornly refuse to date me for another six months when I started flirting with you.”

“Excuse me?” she replies with a laugh, pointing at her entire body. “You needed to work for it, buddy.”

He scoffs at her, lost in the moment for a minute too long. Killian finds himself speechless at how flawlessly they came up with the story – half inspired by their real life, of course – and how easy it was for them to tease each other about it. Like it wasn’t a lie at all but their relationship for the past decade or so, the comfortable banter, the easy back-and-forth.

Emma’s eyes are as confused as his might be, and she startles when the baker clears her throat at the both of them. Emma shakes her head a little before focusing on the other woman with an apologetic smile, rolling her eyes once more with a shrug of her shoulders.

“The proposal is far less interesting, I’m afraid,” she adds for good measure.

Killian has no idea why he turns fully toward her, has no idea why he decides that their fucked-up, potentially dangerous, game isn’t over yet. Perhaps because his survival instinct jumped out the window ten minutes ago, perhaps because he is a masochist who can suddenly voice his wildest fantasies of a life together without being judged for it. Or, at least, judged _too much_ for it.

“Are you saying that it was _boring_?” he replies, playing the part of the outraged fiancé impeccably. “Romantic weekend at your mother’s cottage, buttercups everywhere in the house and your favourite meal, before asking the question. And you dare telling a stranger it’s less interesting that missed opportunities?”

Emma’s cheeks have suddenly turned a deepest shade of pink. Not enough for it to be qualified as a blush, but just enough for Killian to notice what may be anger – at him, for not stopping when he had the chance – but what can as well be embarrassment – either acting, or real, he can’t tell. Her eyes are a little wider than usual, too, and she is rendered speechless for a moment. Her throat works against a knot, before she smiles.

“No, you’re right, it was perfect.” She shakes her head, focuses on the baker once more. “Excuse us. You should just add two figurines fighting on top of the cake, because that’s what represents us best.”

The baker grins. “That’s okay. Preparing a wedding can be quite stressful. I remember mine, I thought Ned was going to kill me.”

“Would have, too,” the other baker jokes from his spot behind the counter, wriggling his fingers at her.

Emma grins at the baker, amused, and Killian tries to do the same. He isn’t sure he manages to be convincing, but then the baker takes a few more notes before asking Emma the type of cake she has in mind. Chocolate is the obvious reply, and Emma adds a few more words about the blue theme thing Anna has going on, showing a bunch of pictures and all that. Killian sits back against his chair, putting his arm against the back of Emma’s.

It takes him longer than it should, to notice she’s sitting back too so her shoulders can brush against his arm. He doesn’t know what to think of it. What to think of them, because this was obviously such a bad idea, in that it isn’t bad at all – it shows him the what ifs and the could have beens of a relationship that will never happen, puts him way too close to a reality of them he will never get to experiment. An alternate universe of sorts where Emma’s heart wasn’t so brutally stomped over, where Killian has a chance at a happy ending with her.

She turns to look and grin at him at some point, and Killian realises he missed a good chunk of the conversation. He shakes his head before focusing back on the baker as she lists the cakes and toppings she thinks they will like best. Lots and lots of chocolate and red velvet, apparently. Emma’s favourites, her smile turning a bit wicked – that’s why they’re here, after all, he has to remind himself. That’s why he is here, and nothing else.

“Sounds brilliant,” he tells the baker when she stands up.

The smile she offers him is knowing – for a moment Killian thinks she reads right through their bullshit, but then he remembers that he’s supposed to be a lost and confused husband-to-be. She’s just taking pity on him, not seeing through their too-well-crafted lies.

“Cakes,” Emma squeals once the baker is gone, and Killian can’t help but snort a little. She’s one step away from waving her closed fist in excitement, childish and carefree. Especially with the way she grins at him, like she was born to shove as much cake as she can down her throat. She’ll probably be sick before tomorrow but hell if Killian is going to stop her when the double dimples in her cheeks flash happily at him.

The baker comes back with a trail full of small pieces of cake and toppings in little bowls, with complementary cutlery and glasses of water. _Rich people_ , he can’t help but think – the Arendelles really are a whole other level. Next to that, his cousin Robin’s garden party of a wedding looks like a pathetic picnic.

“Happy testing,” the baker tells them before leaving them some space.

Emma doesn’t need more to grab a piece of red velvet and to add some chocolate topping to it. Killian’s stomach churns unpleasantly, but she seems to enjoy it if the way she closes her eyes and hums a little are anything to go by. Killian picks a cake of his own, chocolate, and adds some vanilla topping before putting it in his mouth. True, the cake is good – perhaps not non-refundable-free-for-the-cake-tasting good, but still good enough to make a nice wedding cake. Or any kind of cake, really, Killian won’t discriminate.

“You should taste that,” Emma tells him all of a sudden, pointing a fork toward him, her other hand opened underneath it so no crumble will fall down. She’s closer than before too, leaning into his space until all he can see is the green of his eyes and the freckles on her nose. She’s also ready to impale him with the fork if he doesn’t react, probably, so he opens his mouth and watches, astonished, as she literally feeds him a piece of red velvet cake.

The thing tastes way too sugary, but Emma offers him a nod that leaves no place to discussion, so Killian chews dutifully before swallowing down. He drinks some of the water too, for good measure, but the taste lingers on his tongue for longer than necessary.

Thankfully for Killian, but mostly for his heart, they settle into an easy silence after that, tasting all kind of combinations possible and only commenting about this or that combo every so often. He bursts into laugher when Emma decides to try all the toppings at once, only to gag around her mouthful and almost choke when she tries to swallow, and she calls him names when he states that is favourite definitely is chocolate with strawberries – she calls that too boring, he calls it just the perfect balance, she rolls her eyes.

Only when the tray in front of them is empty does the baker come back to them. She writes down Emma’s comments about this or that flavour, nodding happily. Killian feels bad for her, knowing they will never actually order a cake from here. Perhaps he will come back to buy some cupcakes or something, to compensate. Mary Margaret’s birthday is a month away, that will make a brilliant gift.

Emma even gives some kind of half-excuse about checking another bakery or two before making the finale choice, and the baker agrees with her wholeheartedly. Another bout of polite conversation and they are on their merry way, back outside and far from the sugary smell of the bakery. Emma is quiet by his side, and Killian doesn’t think much of it at first – they are the kind of friends who are more than comfortable not speaking for hours on end, if they don’t feel like it. Most of their college years as friends were spent doing different things in the same room.

But then she stops in the middle of the sidewalk, so Killian stops too and looks at her quizzically. She’s silent for a few more moments, hands in the pockets of her jeans, rocking on the back of her heels – nervous, although Killian doesn’t know why.

“Did you,” she starts, before licking her lips and looking away. “Did you mean it? The proposal thing, that’s how you’d do it.”

Killian’s heart does a weird thing in his chest, in that it both stops beating and starts racing at the same time. The blood in his veins turns to ice, his mind a little dizzy as he takes a step closer to Emma. He doesn’t dare – hoping is too much, right now but. _But_!

“No,” he replies simply, and doesn’t imagine the way her face falls at his reply, the disappointment in her eyes. “You don’t want to get married. Only a fool who doesn’t really know you would propose to you.”

The jab to Walsh isn’t on purpose, but it never hurts either. Not that Killian really cares about the bloke right now, not when Emma’s face is doing so many things at once – confusion, understanding, confusion again before it settles on hopeful and relieved, and then scared. For a moment there, Killian believes she is going to run away, because she looks spooked and ready to flee, but then a small, tentative smile tugs up the corner of her mouth, her eyelashes fluttering a little.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

She leans toward him, almost shy, her hips doing a shameful thing as she moves closer and closer until Killian has no choice but to grab her waist, to welcome her into his arms. He doesn’t want to make the first move, forces himself not to react, but it’s complicated when Emma looks at him like that, like she’s really seeing him for the first time. It’s complicated, and a tad frightening too in how real it feels.

“Emma…” he starts, but doesn’t know where to go from there.

Not that he needs to, because she rises on her tiptoes, hand brushing against his jaw before settling on his neck – warm and tingling, just like her lips against his mouth. Her kiss is sweet in more way than one, tasting like chocolate and red velvet cake, and he drowns in the feeling of her, one arm around her waist while the other hand loses itself in her hair. Her fingers tighten their grip on his neck, as if afraid he’s going somewhere, anywhere, and so he pulls her closer, not caring in the least that they’re giving random strangers quite the show. And then she hums into his mouth, happy, before she leans back. Another peck of her lips against his before she grins, a smile he can only mirror.

“So,” she starts with a breathless chuckle. “Wanna be my plus-one to Anna’s wedding?”

“It’s three months away,” he can’t help but reply, then cringes a little.

Emma laughs, one of her rare giggles. “You can fuck me before if you want.”

His eyes widen, before he laughs too. “Aye, cause that what I feared. Not getting to bed you for a few more months. The horror.”

Her double dimples flash again, and he just wants to brush his thumb against them. So he does, having Emma wrinkle her nose in reply. Killian is aware of how pathetically cheesy they must look in that moment, but hell if he cares – he waited long enough, so he’ll take cheesy romantic comedy tropes over anything else right now.

“Killian Jones,” she goes on, voice all fake-serious. “Do you want to not get married and perhaps even go on a date, let’s say, Friday night?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He kisses her giggle away, kisses her until his mouth tastes like chocolate and her.


End file.
